Jolly Old England
by Torina Archelda
Summary: In which a young tourist determines never to visit England again. This is probably a good idea. HPSS Written to cheer up snow. Thanks to thesewarmstars for the beta!


Jolly Old England

By Torina Archelda

In which a young tourist determines never to visit England again. This is probably a good idea. HPSS

Written to cheer up snow. Thanks to thesewarmstars for the beta!

Jolly Old England

Nathaniel frowned as, for the seventeenth time this morning alone, someone dropped their bags at the sight of him and began alternately staring at him and whispering to their companions. He pulled his coat more tightly around himself and attempted to be as inconspicuous as possible.

When the sound of a carton of eggs cracking marked number eighteen, he determined it wasn't working.

He had almost decided to forego the day's sightseeing and simply relax in his hotel room when a harried looking woman in a threadbare red shawl came up to him and started tugging on his sleeve. He turned to her, absolutely flabbergasted and beginning to think that all Britons were slightly mad. Her expression was earnest, though, and he took pity on her.

"Can I help you, ma'am?"

She promptly burst into tears.

"Oh, please, sir," she sobbed. "You– you have to _do_ something!"

Now Nathaniel was thoroughly alarmed. "What's wrong?" he asked hurriedly, attempting to loosen her death grip on his arm without increasing her hysterics any further. "Are you all right?"

"It– it's my son," she wailed, clutching his arm even more tightly. "He– he's got the dragon pox!"

Nathaniel halted his efforts to remove her from his person and simply stared at her, much as he had been stared at every day for the past five. When she made no move to correct her speech or cease her weeping he replied, "Excuse me?"

"The– the dragon pox!" she cried, looking up at him beseechingly. "I– I only have a few Galleons at the moment, so I can't offer you much, but I _know _you can–"

"Galleons?" Nathaniel exclaimed, suddenly regretting ever having gotten out of bed this morning. "What on earth would I do with a galleon?"

"Only I have nothing else to offer, sir! Please, please, I beg of you, just Floo over to the house and take a look at him–"

"The flu!" Nathaniel cried, now attempting to pull his arm away without any regard to her feelings. "I thought you said he had some sort of pox!"

"Oh, please Mr. Potter sir, you must–"

Nathaniel started. "Mr. Potter? No, you must have me confused with someone–"

But suddenly the entire alleyway seemed to have converged upon their location, and Nathaniel was surrounded by a horde of yelling, shouting, shoving people who were all clamoring to get their hands on him.

"Mr. Potter, my son's innocent! He'd never steal anything–"

"Mr. Potter, you must hear about this new bill–"

"My son's a brilliant inventor, Mr. Potter, just come take a look at his latest–"

"All right, that's enough!" A booming voice carried over the racket in the street, and Nathaniel could breathe again as those closest to him stepped back and a pathway formed in the crowd to admit a brown-haired, genial looking man. "Leave the man alone," he commanded, walking closer and throwing a protective arm over Nathaniel's shoulder. "Harry Potter has been missing for years. You don't honestly think–"

"Damn it, Harry, what the hell are you doing out there? I need you back in here to–" The man who had just emerged from the shop across the street came to an abrupt halt, his jaw dropping slightly as he stared at Nathaniel. For god's sake! Who was this Potter character that everyone felt the need to stop and–

"I'll be right there, Severus," the man beside him replied. "Just going to help our new friend here get home. He isn't Harry Potter," he continued, turning back to the crowd. Nathaniel let out a surprised squeak as the man moved a hand toward his face and shoved his bangs up. "No scar, see?" The throng of people started muttering discontentedly, disappointment clear on their faces. At least they weren't staring at him anymore, though Nathaniel was relieved when the man moved his hand away from his face.

"So the lot of you can just go about your business, then." They had already started to clear away, though, losing interest as soon as his identity had been confirmed. "As for you," he said, turning to the woman who had accosted Nathaniel in the first place, "head on across the street and tell my husband Harry sent you. He'll give you what you need for your son. You needn't worry about payment," he said, forestalling her protests with an upraised hand. "We opened the apothecary to help people." The man smiled. "And because Severus loves to brew. I won't see a child die for lack of care. Go on. He'll take care of you."

She rushed off without further objection, shouting thank yous as she went, and as she neared her destination Nathaniel realized that the man who had emerged from the shop earlier had never stopped staring at him. The intensity of the man's gaze was nearly frightening, and Nathaniel shivered when he finally broke it to speak to the woman. The man by his side felt it and smiled.

"He's something, isn't he?" he said warmly before patting Nathaniel briskly on the shoulder. "All right then!" he grinned. "Where are you staying? I'll walk you back so we haven't got any more funny business."

"Just a few blocks that way," Nathaniel replied, indicating the direction with a wave of his hand. "I'm sure I'll be all right, really." He paused. "Thank you, by the way." He held out his hand. "The name's Nathaniel."

The man shook it. "Harry Snape," he replied. "And don't be silly- let me walk you back. Don't want to take any chances!" A glint of humor appeared in his hazel eyes. "You _do _look an awful lot like that Potter fellow."

Nathaniel's face turned pensive at that, but he allowed himself to be led in the proper direction. Harry was all right. Maybe _all _Londoners weren't crazy…

"Harry!" They had only been walking a few moments when the intense man from before called out to his companion. "Where are you going?" he called furiously. "We have work to do if you want your friend's potion to be brewed on time–"

"Merlin, Severus!" Nathaniel blinked. "The lacewings need to stew for good few hours more, the pixie wings are drying, and I pickled your bloody toads' legs this morning!" There was affection in his exasperated tone, and by now Nathaniel was convinced the entire _world _was going mad. "I'll be back in ten minutes," he called. "Go extract some ashwinder venom or something."

The other man snarled disgustedly. "Fine! It'll be on your head when he's running around like a madman howling at the moon!" And with that he turned on his heel and marched back into the apothecary, slamming the door behind him.

Nathaniel just stared at the door as Harry shook his head, still smiling slightly. "Well," he began lightheartedly, "are we ready then?" He walked off and Nathaniel took a moment to follow, too busy staring after him in amazement.

They _were_ all crazy! He was never coming back to England again.


End file.
